


wrong

by canniballistics



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hydra (Marvel), Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 20:31:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2595479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canniballistics/pseuds/canniballistics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They know just how to get him to comply.</p><p>---</p><p><b>not a hydra trash party story</b>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wrong

**Author's Note:**

> something written quickly on the drive back from a weekend vacation. written while listening to bastille's _icarus_.

His finger moves, and the sniper rifle kicks back against his shoulder. 

"Good. Now let's go meet up with the others."

He doesn't want to. ( _Irrelevant_.) But he nods, begins dismantling the weapon so he can tuck it back into its case, remove any trace of their having been there. It takes just under thirty seconds, but he can still see the disapproval in the other's face. 

Now he wants to return even less. That disapproval is unacceptable, though, and so he resolves to do better next time.

\---

When he opens his eyes this time, his vision is watery, jaw sore and chest heaving. There's a halo of gold above him, and even if he can't see the man's face clearly, he can just barely make out a smile. 

"You did good. I'm proud of you."

A hand pats his head, and after a second, rests against his cheek. He's quiet, blinks the blurriness away, and after a second, leans into the touch. 

The man's smile widens. 

\---

"C'mon. Let's go."

He moves faster at the words, a slight frown on his face. He hadn't been given any orders, hadn't been presented with a docket. Face and location were missing, but the blond man wanted him to come. The blond man wanted him to come, and so he would. Anywhere he wanted, anywhere he asked. He'd follow him to hell and back, if he asked. 

Into the jaws of—

 _What_? 

He stops, frowns as he looks at the blond man. Watches him hurry forward, stop once he realizes he isn't being followed. There's irritation on his face, but it's not right. 

"What are you doing? I said let's _go_."

He narrows his eyes, studies the face looking back at him. It's wrong. Missing the mulish set of the chin, dark brows furrowed over a too-serious and too thin face. This isn't him. This isn't the right blond man. 

What was his name?

This blond jerks when he reaches out to him, slaps his hand away. "We don't have time for this. Are you coming with me?"

He stares at his hand, the spot on his wrist that stings from the slap. It doesn't hurt at all, but it sets something recoiling inside him. This is all wrong. He regards the blond quietly for a moment, can see it start to dawn on him that something is different, before he lashes out with his fist. The man crumples quickly, blood streaming from his face as he screams. This isn't the right man. He can see it now. This blond is too broad, his nose smashed into his face and teeth crooked, eyes the wrong color, far too dull. None of the fire (he thinks) he can remember seeing in them.

"No."

He doesn't want to go with him. Not this impostor. This isn't his blond, the one with the dragonfire in his eyes and the blood in his teeth, who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. What was _his_ name?

He steps over the man crying on the floor, quick as he creeps down the hall. The blond man must be here somewhere. Has he been captured? He has to save him. Pulled him out of a million fights before, this won't be a thing. 

The thought makes him pause, catches his breath. He can almost remember the fights, his face. Details, but not his name. His blond man, his light. It's a distraction he can't afford, not if he's going to rescue him, but the realization has him trembling, sweat beading on his brow. _What was his name?_

The distraction costs him, freezing when a word is shouted at him from down the hall. His muscles lock, his breath coming faster once he realizes he's been rendered immobile. This is wrong. Everything is all wrong. A soldier steps in front of him, a gun trained at his chest, and he looks at him. Tries not to plead; his voice comes out as a croak instead.

"Ste—"

He spasms when something is pressed into his back, electric currents driving through his body, and after a second it feels like his heart might burst. He drops to the floor when it stops, and the world goes away.

\--- 

When he opens his eyes this time, his vision is blurry, jaw sore and chest heaving. It takes him a minute to still himself, tone down the buzzing in his mind into silence. And once he does, he notices. Something is wrong. Something is missing. Something is missing, but he doesn't know what. A glance around the room, and his heart quickens once he realizes. Where is—

The door opens, and he jerks toward the sound. Something in his chest uncoils slowly when he sees the man who walks in, at the gentle smile he gives him. Soft blond hair, sharp blue eyes, a strong nose. He's too drained to get up when the man walks over to him, but he can see a determination in his eyes that sets his heart just a couple beats faster. Familiar. It must be the right one. He licks dry lips, voice coming out hoarse as he speaks. 

"You came back. I thought you were gone."

A frown crosses the man's face, but only for a second before that smile comes back, and something he doesn't recognize glints behind those eyes. It unsettles him, dampens his relief, before he responds. "'course not. How could I leave you behind?"

That shade of unease dissipates then. It almost feels right. The man brushes damp hair back from his forehead, and he freezes, remembering suddenly. Catches the man's wrist, and neither of them pay it any mind when the soldiers in the room level their guns at them for the motion. The man looks at the hand grabbing him, raises an eyebrow. He swallows hard, presses his lips together. "I need to—" Do what? He isn't sure. Can't remember. He frowns, tilts his head as he tries to think. Oh. _Right_. His eyes widen as he looks back up at him. 

"What's your name?"

The man freezes, and it's obvious that this isn't what he was expecting. But that smile returns again, just a quirk at the corner of his lips. 

It's not the right name. He knows it isn't, but something in the way it's phrased— It makes it easier to believe that it might be him, that at any moment, he'll reveal the truth and everything will be okay. That's alright. He can wait. He's waited so long already.

"You can call me Alexander for now."


End file.
